Through the Looking Glass
by Lightangelxo7
Summary: Series of one-shots/drabbles about the Volturi.
1. Wilted Roses

1For years her laugh still echoed through the halls, and for years you could almost hear the soft tap of her feet on the stone floor.

_Almost._

Ringing faintly in the back of their heads, the soft chime of Didyme's laugh. The memories of her smiles.

_Just memories._

Marcus never smiled again. He never laughed. No one ever spoke her name, and most contact was avoided with both parties. It seemed all existence was nothing to him, and it was nothing. Because what was a life without a reason.

_No reason at all._

The flowers she kept wilted and blew away with the wind. Empty vases with crushed flowers, or preserved roses never moved. No one dared touch them. No one dared dust the cobwebs away. Maybe because, well, quite simply it was hers. And maybe, in the back of everyone's minds, that one day she would glide back into their lives, and color would be brought back to the world. And laughter would grace the cold castle walls. And Marcus would smile.

_And the cobwebs would be dusted. _


	2. Smile

1It was just eerie. It was just _so bizarre_. Even the humans faltered in their step as they stepped through the great doors into the thrown room. His filmy red eyes, even after all these centuries, _millennia_, it did not deter him.

But why should it? He had it all. The power. Wealth beyond calculation. The respect, _the fear, _of every vampire out there. He had it all.

But at what cost?

_But what does it matter now?_

The mortals faltered in step at the sight of the scene. The vampires fled in fear at the name.

_Volturi._

Yes, he had it all.


	3. Child

1She looked out the window down to the street. Her cold, red gazed looked down upon every mother and child that walked through the square and allies.

She couldn't remember her mother. Her hand intertwined in her mothers, or the look of her smile. The sound of her mother's laugh did not echo in her ear. All she had was her brother, and that memory was the only thing that the venom didn't burn away; keeping her forever as a child.

The devils angel.

She looked coldly down at the children playing, something she was never invited to do. _Why?_

Her cold look could pull them to their feet. Make the writhe and scream in agony, but she just watched from up in the window. Her brother was still near by, as always, he was always near by.


	4. Fragile Memories

1He sat quietly in his room like another curio of time.

The four-poster bed stayed unmoved, and unmade still in the very center. It was no wonder the drapes hadn't completely rotted away, nor the blankets. They were so fragile. Books scattered the room. The desk still held century old ink stains. Nothing was moved from that day. _Nothing. _

No one came in, and if they did, it was at their own risk. This was _his_. And the last place her laugh reached. The last place he could go to reassure himself that she was really real, _once_.

Sometimes, she _was_ there, as he sat quietly.

Her voice would laugh, _'Marcus! Marcus, dance I with me!' _she would sing and twirl. Or he would come in to see her perched up on the bed with the big wool blanket wrapped around her, _'Marcus, I missed you'_.

But she was never there. He almost smiled during these fantasias, but they faded quiet quickly because she just wasn't. There was nothing left of her. Nothing but memories and a disheveled belongings that would never be cleaned, not that they would either way. It was just eerie now.

Strange, still, that after all these years, he still couldn't understand why.

_Why can't she walk through the door. . ._


	5. She wasn't special

1She wasn't special. She wasn't gifted. She did simply what they asked, and that was to get them what they really wanted; blood.

Going out into the back alleys of the concrete jungles, she sought only one thing, and that was the unsuspecting victim who would be bribed back to Volterra for their possibly untimely death. The elderly couple eager to get off on one last vacation, or the tired mother wishing for one week away from it all. Did she ever suspect that maybe she wouldn't come home to her little darling? No, because that is why she came.

Decked out in seductive clothes, luring everyone who would follow back to Death who held his arms open welcoming the victims into the almost lightless room with a simper smile on his face.

This was her job. To lead the unsuspecting into the arms of death.

_'But could they really not know?_' the thought barely crossed her mind as she watched them like a herd of sheep file into the room, the fear just beginning to dawn upon some. Could they somehow, in the back of their minds, have known the moment they accepted her invitation known that they won't ever see their loved ones again? Or did they detest life so much to have thrown it away.

She pushed the thought away. She wasn't special, or gifted, and she didn't care about these mortals. She was simply doing what they asked.


	6. Alistair

1_Alistair had been here. _He had thought after releasing the young mans hand. That was his thought. How many years had it been? How many centuries had passed since those first wild years? When they had no power, or organization. Alistair who had left him.

When he was young, no older than the new born with the child, he had not been alone. He had Alistair. The quiet one. The sensible one. '_Rule? Rule?! Your mad!' _he had spat, but he didn't leave. Alistair stayed when Aro had started his monestrous plans. When things started to _expand. _Marcus came, and Caius, and a few others. Then Didyme came.

'_Watch her, won't you?'_ he gave his flashy smile, before his skin became like paper. And Alistair watched her. He kept her company in the beginning, and the disappointment out of Aro's hair. She was a lot of energy. And like so many others, he fell in love, but he never told her that. It was his, and the mind readers, secret. Then Marcus came. But Alistair did not leave. Not till her ashes were found. But why would he stay then. Why would anyone care. So with a regretful sigh, he let his friend go. The first he had in his immortal life. '_Goodbye, Alistair. May we meet again one day, far from now' _

Alistair had left the attic in which he took refugee in. He did not wish to fight the Volturi, which was not a bad decision. He would probably go and wander, hide himself under a rock, maybe, for the next three or four decades. Alistair had left, maybe, to avoid the familiar faces of his immortal youth. Of troubled times, and of young, bright red eyes with all the world to roam and so much to instigate.

The thought was pushed aside, along with the memories that never fully developed. After all, there were certainly more important things at hand.


	7. Heaven's Light

1**A/N: hey,t hanks everyone who's readings and thanks for reviews! I am planning on writing a fanfiction based of one of these, and hopefully it will come soon! R/R! **

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He watched the glow of two lovers walking in the street. The way they stood together,

danced together, laughed together almost made him smile. But the smile never fully formed, because he knew he would never know that loving glow again. Once, he knew it. Once, he felt it. But, that angels glow was meant for everyone else now.

It shined. The light of lovers. It shined in a beautiful way that nearly tore his heart out every time he was faced with it. That insufferable feeling that she'll never again be able to dance through the door when everyone else could. The light almost looked like heavens light.

She was an angel. Maybe that was it. That _was_ it. And angels don't belong on earth. Angels aren't meant for life abolishing demons. His loving angel. . .her loving light shining down on the lovers on the street bringing them joy. Joy that she brought to everyone in her life, in her path.

How many times our there, he watched a loving pair of lovers dancing in the night. . .there was a soft glow around them. . .it almost looked like heavens light.


	8. Greed

1It was always sunny. The wind gently and sweetly across the young man's face as he lay back in the tall grass. Behind him was the small but semi-profitable vineyard. It was enough to keep him and his family in a middle-class environment in a small provincial town. But he wanted _more. _It had always been _more_.

The young man didn't want to work in the vineyard, as his father told him to. He really didn't even like his father. His father, as far as he could tell, wasn't too fond of him seeing as everything he did was _No, No, No. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Bah! Bah! Grumph- Harupmth! _It was enough to drive anyone mad! Mother was kind. Mother was quiet. Would the young man ever understand why she came here? No. The young man wanted more.

Would he ever understand his mother always somehow knew. She knew that her son would be a great man. Her daughter following suit in her own way. But it would surely end in tragedy. Her black haired beauties with green eyes and dotted, sun kissed skin. Could her son ever imagine the way she had let them go before they grew up? The way he was so greedy, this town could never satisfy his hunger. Her little girl so unlike the rest.

Centuries would pass. Millennia even, and the young man still could not really understand the sad look in his mothers big black eyes when he came home for her final hours. His skin so cold, yet she begged him to take his sister. They were meant for so much more than that provincial life.

Like the willow by the water, hoarding every drop of water. Yet the flowers grow around it, still. By the shade of the willow.


	9. Murderer

**AN:I know i should be working on my other fanfics. I AM!! rly! for I, the Divine i have one loong one in progress( like half doneish?) and the other one i have a chapter in progress. so there shall be updates! untile then-enjoy**

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No, it wasn't fair.

She watched him that first night. She held him that first night. No words. Just her fingers caressing his dark hair as he suffered silently in his own grief. His own guilt. Let himself drown in it as her fingers smooth away every worry, every trace of that guilt so he could be ready to face the vampire world.

But did she get every strand, every harbored childhood memory? No, one could not.

Did he even know it? As they were alone, for no one spoke _her_ name, he did. Did he even know that he spoke to nonchalantly about her? Could he really? She sat, and she would smile sweetly, silently wondering, patently listening to his voice. Her name brought no surprise anymore. No pain. Maybe it was that this was his way of 'copping' with what he had done. Athenodora forgot it. Forgot her friend. Marcus grieved in the memories. Drowned in them. She didn't know how Caius left her memory. Maybe harbored it in a lost corner, as she did. The wife of the murderer. But she loved him. Loved how he left her name hanging in the air.

"_Didyme would. . ._" "_If Didyme had been. . ." "Oh, Didyme, she. . ." _that is how it was. In a simple conversation. Once in a great while. A good while. A good cause. But he said it like she was there. Like she was simply in the other room, her room, with Marcus. She would bounce through the halls come day break. Was that how it was?

She watched him, her love, with caring eyes. _Is this how you contend?_

Sulpicia couldn't stand the name, truly. She wished she could be like Athenodora; just forget the beingness. She knew she had no right to drown in a memory. She wished she could act as her Aro did about the matter. But she couldn't. She loved him, but she couldn't forget her.

But she could forget her ashes burned under his hands. Quite easily.

Unspeakably, the memory wasn't dead, like the ashy flowers still in the halls. _It just wasn't dead. _And it was the murderer who kept it alive.


	10. Fountains

_She never thought of flowers. She lived in her own comfortable world. Away from all those horrid past memories. _

She just didn't care to interact with the guests much. Cause for conversation was never present in her mind. She didn't care deeply for any one of the guards. She never did.

Her only friend, if that's what they still called each other, was dear Sulpicia. Her own enthusiasm for the bizarre, like her husband, had never failed to deter over the millennia. But, one does learn to ignore such things.

She cannot help but notice, now as so much time has passed, that her appearance has changed, but not really. Her eyes aren't as vibrant, and clearly, neither is her complexion. But Athenadora is still beautiful. She was always the prettiest.

She loved to walk the halls surrounding the courtyard. The shadow still covered her skin, but out there, the flowers basked in the sun. the fountain in the middle could be heard crystal clear as the sound of cold water poured into the cycle again. It reminded her of her own courtyard when she was human, though it wasn't nearly as beautiful. And the view wasn't obscured by blooming vines and ivies.

True, the only person she loved in the castle was Caius. And his temper was quite as bad as his reputation stated. After all, life at home was much _different _when things were not all thrown out of proportion. She liked it that way. Calm and predictable as the spew of water from the fountain. After all, who could want anything less but to live comfortably with their lover for all eternity?


End file.
